In His Eyes
by mvdiva
Summary: How one man changed the lives of so many without taking a single one. A look into Meryl before and during the two year interlude.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun or any of its characters. If I did, then Vash would be locked in my room as I fed him doughnuts at my leisure. Anyway, this story is going to be at least a few chapters long, but if any of you know me, it's never certain when the next chapter will be up. In the meantime, enjoy this one, and please review!

**In His Eyes**

            Sometimes, I try to look at my life from an outsider's perspective. From all viewpoints, my life two years ago was about as ordinary as it gets. Twenty-something female gets up to eat breakfast and get dressed, goes to work, returns home after long exhausting day at said job, eats dinner and goes to bed again. Boring, but that was all I ever wanted.

            Actually, that's a lie. Stories had been a part of my nightly routine as a child. Swashbuckling stories of adventure where the handsome hero always killed the dragon and won the hand of the fair maiden without seeming to break a sweat. Deep in my heart, I had always wanted something of that for myself. But on this dust ball of a planet, there wasn't much hope for that. 

            After the Great Fall, the survivors set about creating shelter for themselves and their families. There was no time for heroes or adventures, and certainly not enough time for romance. 

            My parents worked hard in the city that their grandparents had helped create. They were often gone, but they always had time for a bedtime story. Being an only child, there was never anyone to play with, so I spent my time after school expanding on the previous night's tale with flourishes of my own. 

            Growing up, I had heard stories of a monster living in the desert called Vash the Stampede. The rumor was considered to be just another wives' tale by the older children in my area; something parents made up to scare small children just enough to make them obedient. It was like the boogie monster, only that there were occasional sightings of outlaws claiming to be the Stampede, which sent all the adults into a frenzy. 

            I can remember one particular incident where the living legend was supposed to be camped only a few isles away from our edge of town. Some of the local men decided to see for sure if the rumors were true, and took guns and whatever other weapons they could find. I was around 13 years old at the time, and it was my job as the resident babysitter to calm all the small children.

            We sat for hours in dusty playground, everyone waiting tensely for any news. As darkness approached, all of the men slowly appeared over the nearest hill carrying one on a stretcher. After he had been sent to the hospital, the explanation was trickled down from oldest to youngest. Vash the Stampede was alive and well; the infamous red coat had been spotted from miles away, and the man in the stretcher had decided to shoot him from a safe distance.

            Of course, the legendary gunman had shot the gun right out of his hand, but that had been enough to send the rest of the men charging towards him, intent on ridding our town of a dangerous menace. Diego, the man who shot first (as we soon began to call him), had been grazed in the right shoulder from a stray bullet. Other than him, no one had been injured. 

            It was amazing, considering the odds. Twelve men had gone out, twelve men had come back. Deep in my heart, I was proud of the mysterious legend. Aside from being dangerous, no one knew anything about him, and that intrigued me. The amusing thing was, each of the men swore the red-cloaked man had started screaming, and then seemed to dodge each bullet. He only shot back when forced to, and even then only to disarm the offender. 

            That night as I lay in my bed, I tried to envision the strange man. Visions of a giant, shaped by the descriptions of those who had seen him came together in my head. His eyes were such a strange shade of green that the men swore they glowed behind yellow sunglasses. Strange blonde hair, seemingly held up merely by force of will. Who was he? Why did he stay away from everyone, and how was he able to win against such odds? Now, I admit to developing a small crush that night. Who was this phantom who never killed, but still managed to spread such destruction? His misadventures were the living embodiment of all my childhood daydreams. If only there was a way I could see this man in action, I was sure that he would be all my heroes wrapped up into one.

            Years passed, as they always seem to do, and my childhood dreams of adventure and romance were slowly pushed out of mind. I graduated from my small school near the top of my class; mostly out of determination. I managed to find myself a job soon after. At the age of 22, after three years of being a lowly pencil-pusher for the Bernadelli insurance company, I was given an assignment.  

            My friend and co-worker, Milly Thompson and I were to be sent to track down Vash the Stampede, and to keep track of his actions in order to prevent further damage. It seemed a simple enough task, yet my heart was pounding.

            A celebration was in order. A field position like this was not only an increase in pay, but a rise in status over some of the people in our office who always looked down their noses at us. The thought was thrilling enough, but then I remembered who we were going to be sent to track. Vash the Stampede…the hero that dreams were made of. I could feel a flush creeping into my cheeks as I remembered how his face had looked in my imagination. 

            He would certainly be handsome. Maybe rugged and muscular, from living so many years as a wanderer, as my imagination dictated he would be. I made my way into the ladies' locker room first, and looked in the mirror in my locker as I straightened the bow on my blouse. Yes, certainly handsome, with green eyes that glowed as he looked out over the desert wasteland while his red coat flapping, almost as if he were challenging the wind to a duel.

            Satisfied that my bow was straight, I rubbed my cheek in a futile effort to make the deep rosy blush go away as I mentally erased the heroic picture of the Stampede in my head. I repeated in my head that the man we were looking for was probably a drunk who happened to be good with a gun, and that the man I had seen in my imagination for years would never match. 

            Life simply didn't work that way. If it had, I certainly would have dreamed up a big bag of cash for myself, and maybe the manager position at work. It was so easy to explain away childhood fantasies when faced with the harsh truth of reality. I slammed my locker door closed a little harder than necessary, and went to find Milly.


	2. Anniversary of Goodbye

If you haven't figured out by now, Trigun doesn't belong to me, and neither do any of its characters. However, my actual Vash plushie is mine forever and always. Also, for those of you just tuning in, about 95% of this story is mainly Meryl's internal monologue, because I suck at writing dialogue, and also because its easier to catch up with the story timeline with some good old angsty thoughts. And now I present you with the next chapter. 

**Anniversary of Goodbye**

_(Two years and four months later…)_

It's been two years. Two long, empty years of my life. Before Vash, I never realized just how pathetic my life had been. Returning to the office at first was almost painful; mainly because returning with nothing more to show than handfuls of accident reports and a semi-permanent sunburn was stupid. Even more, it was cowardly. I had been cowardly not to follow him, and now he was gone. 

The teasing from my co-workers barely bothers me, though. All the comments from the people I once called friends barely penetrate anymore. It was all I could do not to look for solace from Milly. She's really the only person I can count on anymore. Not like I could ever depend on _him._

And yet…I never stop thinking about him. My average daily routine starts and ends with him. Some tough Bernardelli representative I am. Some days, it's hard to believe that it's been two years. I would have followed. Even then, when I refused to listen to my heart, I would have followed him to the ends of this rotten dust ball of a planet, if the need arose.

But he had given me that speech, and then just walked off into the blazing sands all alone. Alone, so completely alone. My dinner plate drips soapy water onto my clean shirt, and then slips into the tiny sink of my apartment's kitchen. I snap out of my stupor and rinse it off. 

I shouldn't still be like this. Vash made it clear enough that he wanted nothing to do with us on numerous occasions. More precisely, he wanted nothing to do with me. Any man like that could have just about any woman he wanted. That last image of him walking away into the swirling sands plays again in my mind, and I move quickly around my kitchen, focusing on clearing the remains of my small dinner to avoid remembering. 

With my household chores completed, there's nothing else to do other than sit and remember. Tonight of all nights, I don't want to remember. I wish Milly were here. She's at home with her family, spending a few hours with the people that love her. The picture of my parents sits on the makeshift mantle in my so-called living room. 

They've been dead and gone for years now. Has it gotten cold in here somehow? I wrap my arms around my shoulders and stare at the photo. I have my father's chin. His is lifted a little defiantly at the camera, but his eyes twinkle merrily. My mother is dwarfed by his height as she stands by his side. 

As a child, all my relatives would remark how I always resembled her. _Ivy's little girl…just as beautiful and as stubborn as her mother._ Everyone would always chuckle, and I'd just sit there like the polite child I had been taught to be. 

Almost unconsciously, my hand strays out to trace their faces behind the protective glass. My mother's enormous eyes stare back, forever frozen in the same twinkle as my father. She was a beautiful woman…beautiful and determined. I remember that Father always had a hard time denying her anything when they both knew she would do whatever it took to get it. No one could ever deny her, because she always did so much for others at the same time. For that, everyone in our town adored her. I knew even at an early age that I would never be like her, no matter how hard I tried. 

How I wish now that I could have some of that strength…the unobtrusive ticking of the clock behind me tolls the half-hour, and I glance at it with a small sigh. It's only 8:30, but I have to be up early enough tomorrow to make it to work on time. If anything, sleep will make me forget today: the anniversary of his last goodbye. Maybe I will go to bed early tonight, if only to forget.

Please review! Nobody wants to see an angry review-monger 'Diva!


	3. Beginning Again

**Disclaimer: Trigun and all of its characters are the property of its owners. (Don't make me go look the name up.) I'm not getting any money from this story, and no copyright infringement is intended. **

**Author's note: Sorry everybody. I think this chapter really sucks the big one. Meryl is just a bit too withdrawn, and there's no real plot. Other than that, I give it two guns up! (Er, heh.) I really wanted to post a chapter before I lost interest in this story. It's just not coming out the way I had originally planned, and I don't think there will be any more continuation. So much for becoming the Agent Orange (_see:  amazing Cowboy Bebop fanfiction writer.) of Trigun. Ah well, life continues, ne? At any rate, don't let my little rant scare you. Read on, dear reader, and please review._**

**Beginning Again**

_…He's back. Two simple little words. I found myself repeating them over and over in my head, trying them on for size. The Chief had reassigned both Milly and me to humanity's first natural disaster, and it was all I could do to keep my face from splitting in a giant grin. _

            It had been two years, four months, and six days since I last saw him. Two miserable, boring years behind a desk, not whether he was dead or alive. I felt my eyes glaze over, and briefly saw my hand stop its frantic search inside my locker as I let myself drift on some of the happier memories from my brief travels with the outlaw.

            _"Isn't it wonderful, Meryl?" I snapped back from the image of liquid green eyes. "What?" Milly stood to my right, eyes wide and grinning like a kid that had just been given the key to the world's largest candy store. She repeated herself, and I nodded. The joy I felt inside had been put under wraps. I had to be professional about this. But after all, it HAD been two years. _

            "Yeah, it is great." I smiled at her, a genuine one that I hadn't been able to pull off for a long time. Milly clapped her hands together, and started prattling on about the things we would need to buy before setting off. I barely heard her words as I finished packing. _He's back, and he is alive. Eventually Milly drifted off to find a better audience, and I sat down on the bench. For some reason I felt like sobbing. Maybe just for the fact that I knew my life was going to pick up speed again, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But he was alive. The sense of relief was overwhelming, and I began to feel dizzy._

            Vash was alive and well, and I would find him. Things would pick up where they had left off, and I would be with him. Those two years gnawed at my insides now, making the empty hole inside me larger; a hole that could only be filled up when he was around. He would be the same idiot, screaming and crying like a baby when faced with any danger and giving me a constant headache with his inane actions.

When we found him in which ever town he decided to resurface in, I would be near the man who was the embodiment of a childhood hero, hidden beneath the mask of a flirtatious drifter who wanted nothing more than to get completely plastered and wolf down doughnuts all day.  I had given up on foolish dreams of adventure and romance years ago. My life was laid out before me: numerous years spent somewhere behind a desk, then retirement and maybe a small hope for a family of my own wedged somewhere in there. 

Never had I imagined that the stories of a dangerous man with blonde hair and a red trench coat would factor into my future. But Vash, the Humanoid Typhoon had swirled in, and I couldn't let him go. The months Milly and I spent with him gave us small insights into his personality. 

One night, before I really knew him, our eyes had met over the campfire. Any doubts I had originally had to his identity were gone. Those eyes flashed at me with someone other than the lighthearted buffoon looking out. I later passed it off as a reflection in the firelight, but the doubts kept me awake long into the night. 

He had looked so…sad. And angry, at the same time. I figured it had to be annoyance at suddenly having traveling companions, but now I think his anger had been directed somewhere else. Anyone who has stayed alive as long as he has must have made many enemies over the years. It was mostly sadness and pain I felt from him that night. Who would have guessed such a notorious outlaw would have so many depths of pain and sadness inside of him? It makes me feel guilty for holding onto the tiny hurts that I carry. 

I can't wait to see him again. If only-"Meryl…" Milly is waving a hand in front of my face. From the frustration written all over her, I guess she's been trying to snap me out of it for a while. "Er, sorry Milly." I zip my last suitcase closed, willing the sheepish smile off my face. "I guess I forgot myself for a while there." My apology seems to work, as the uncharacteristic frown melts off her face; replaced by her regular sunny grin. 

"Oh, it's okay. I just wanted to tell you that the sand steamer is going to be leaving in an hour, so you have to pack and get your suitcases on board." I smiled and patted the side of one well-worn bag. "No worries there. I'm all set!" I say with a grin. In reply, she flips her duffel over one brawny shoulder, and walks out the door. Luckily, I left enough things in a bag in my locker; everything I needed was here at the office, just in case. It never fails to be ready, and I won't have to return to my tiny apartment. 

The locker door closes with a bang, and I follow Milly's retreating figure out the front door of the building, and the half-isle to the train station. Instead of getting heavier as I walk, the suitcase feels lighter than ever before against my fingertips. The sand steamer grows larger as I approach; the sound of its horn and the smell of fuel reach my senses and I take them in with a smile. 

Another day of travel, and I'll be in another small town, looking for a man that anyone else in their right mind would run away from; his spiky blonde hair and red trench coat the trademarks of a dangerous gunman world-renowned for violence and destruction. Overhead, the sky shines bluer than I ever thought possible, and the twin suns' rays shine down with an almost gentle touch. 

A few more steps and I pass my bag off to one of the sand steamer's crew for storage. A few aisles back, and I take the window seat across from Milly, who has already begun to nod off. A few minutes pass, and then the gut-rumbling horn bellows, and the city of December slowly fades from view. I rest my head against the thick glass panes, and close my eyes. _I'll see you soon, Vash the Stampede. I think to myself, and then sleep claims me._

It truly is a sound life.


End file.
